


Beneath a Waning Moon

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Series: Negotiate [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-09
Updated: 2005-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He's already been out here for almost an hour, and he's at the point of giving up hope now, convinced that this will be the night it all stops, the night he wakes up from the month-long dream.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath a Waning Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reedfem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reedfem/gifts).



> Title is from "Kubla Khan" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
> 
> Check out the fabulous remix by John Blonde: [Moonshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/891352).

The sun has been down for about fifteen minutes and the breeze off the ocean is turning cool. Rodney's hands rest on the balcony railing, thumbs idly rubbing circles on the warm metal as he watches the first of the planet's three moons creep up above the horizon. He's already been out here for almost an hour, and he's at the point of giving up hope now, convinced that this will be the night it all stops, the night he wakes up from the month-long dream.

Before he can steel himself to turn around and go back inside, though, he hears quiet footsteps behind him, and then there's a solid body pressing up against his back, and strong hands firm on his hips.

"Miss me?"

The words are a warm, breathy whisper in his ear, and he smiles, more relieved than he's willing to admit. It won't be tonight after all.

He doesn't answer, but goes to turn around instead. The hands on his hips hold him still, facing the water instead of the man behind him. This is the way it's been from the very beginning, and he's mostly resigned himself to playing by the unspoken rules. He relaxes, leans back into the embrace, and the hands on his hips relax as well, one sliding up the front of his shirt to tug the zipper down and the other moving to rub at his erection through the front of his pants.

Warm, wet kisses on his neck send shivers down his spine and he lets his head fall back onto a sturdy shoulder, closing his eyes before he catches more than a glimpse of dark, mussed hair; he _tries_ to play by the rules, at least.

The mouth continues working its way down the contour of his neck, alternating gentle nips and soothing kisses, and Rodney's already close—too close—to the point of no return. He reaches down and unbuttons his pants, but before he can reach in to free his aching cock, his hand is gently pulled away.

"Shhh. Not yet."

He's about to protest the interference, but then warm fingers slide across his stomach and beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping solidly around him, and the words die on his lips. While one hand takes him apart, stroke by slow, deliberate stroke, the other traces out a topographical map of his erogenous zones, and it doesn't take long before he's shuddering through the aftershocks of an orgasm that was at least a 7.0 on the Richter scale.

Behind him the sound of a zipper is loud in the calm night air and he can feel knuckles brushing against his ass in a rhythm far more urgent than the one that brought him off. He almost turns around, almost offers his mouth or his hand, but a sudden, quiet moan stops him, because as much as he'd like to touch, he doesn't want to jeopardize this. Instead, he pulls himself together, tucking his cock into his pants, and then reaches back to slide his palms down taut thighs.

There's another moan, and an almost inaudible whisper next to his ear. "Oh God, Rodney."

He closes his eyes again, strokes wherever he can reach, and whispers back, "Yes. Yes, please."

A deep groan and sudden tense stillness leave him almost as shaken as his own climax, and then there's warm breath on his face and a kiss pressed to his jaw. For a moment the rustle of fabric and the lapping of the waves are the only sounds, and then a whispered, "Sweet dreams," and Rodney's alone again.

If this is how John needs it to be, Rodney can live with it, can live with having his very own incubus who comes to him after sunset and disappears again before the moons rise high enough to see by. He wants more, but he knows how to be patient. Eventually John will come to him in the light of day, but for now, Rodney will spend his evenings out on the balcony, beneath a waning moon.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Moonshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/891352) by [filenotch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/filenotch/pseuds/filenotch)




End file.
